BETWEEN THE LINES
I like to be the first one asleep
and the second one awake;
I like knowing someone else is in charge
of keeping the clocks ticking.
And I like to prop my door just so,
not quite open,
not quite closed,
as though I will be more likely to know
when the future scurries past
like a rat in search of yesterday’s cheese.
I don’t remember a day when I wasn’t afraid,
when I didn’t wake with a start,
shocked to find myself
still part of this planet,
still breathing yet still,
and I always have to stop myself
from imagining the worst.
If I were a flower, I would be a thorn.
If I were a coin, I would land on my face.
If I were a mirror, I would reflect beauty,
unable to capture it for myself.
If I were a chorus, much loved and often sung,